


To See Faith

by retrovertigo (ellameno)



Series: The Great Fire [16]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Canon, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality Spectrum, Bonding, Developing Relationship, Dreams, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Introspection, Kindred Spirits, Late Night Conversations, Mentor/Protégé, Moral Lessons, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Robot/Human Relationships, Slow Burn, Social Justice, Training, Worldbuilding, robots have emoshuns too, the railroad is just a bunch of sjw's talking in hobo code and they are Valid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-20 12:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14894639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellameno/pseuds/retrovertigo
Summary: Nora grapples with the realities of her new job, while Nick copes with changes of his own.





	To See Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, sorry for the wait, this one took a lot of fine-tuning! It's a lil different structurally, and maybe I'm overthinking things but I hope it's not too different. I've also been super ill :(
> 
> Just to be safe, content warning for heavy discussions of morality regarding violence. Which I guess is not too cray if you're playing the game but I didn't think things got handled critically enough and I've been in a Mood aha.
> 
> Thanks to [seaweedredandbrown](http://archiveofourown.org/users/seaweedredandbrown/pseuds/seaweedredandbrown) and [Coldharbour](http://archiveofourown.org/users/coldharbour) for beta-reading.

        Out of all the characters Nora had met in this wasteland, human or otherwise, Deacon was the _strangest_. Like two people in one body; or even an entire cast, depending on which disguise he put on that day. Over the past week, Nora had witnessed him changing from smiling to stone-faced like a light switch; terse and prudent in casual situations, but throwing out silly-voiced wisecracks in the middle of a gun fight. The human representation of unpredictability.

        And the stories the man spun! He made it impossible to partake in small talk or to try to connect on even the most shallow of levels. He sold vacuums, he did radio, his parents came here by boat, he was born in a Vault— and more than that, he bobbed and weaved around the question of whether he was human or synthetic. Which had made Nora suspicious... until she had remembered this was the guy who also claimed he was born in 1902.

        Nora had spent more unbroken time with this man of mystery than anyone— other than Nick, of course, but they had treasured history. Her first mission with Deacon had been tense but smooth, the two of them guiding a soft-spoken refugee through the winding Boston streets to his new home in the dead of night. Her next few had been a retrieval of supplies hidden in a railcar and some fruitless stakeouts near Cambridge where a Courser had last been sighted. She wasn’t certain if this intensive pace was the side-effect of the Railroad being short-staffed or Deacon wanting her to experience every type of job during their training.

        Each night, she slept with Deacon close by, whether in the safety of the headquarters or stowed away somewhere in the wastes. But even now, on their second day of a weekend-long trek to a rendezvous point, the sun beating down as the season turned, she still felt like she was talking to a total stranger.

        “— but, man, it just became a total pain in the ass,” Deacon said amidst a long-winded anecdote as they turned down a residential street, “‘cause it’s impossible to be a fly on the wall when everyone is trying to pick you up. So that’s when I decided, enough is enough, I’m leaving womanhood behind me.”

        “I’m having a really hard time believing that’s true,” she said as she followed behind.

        He looked back defensively. “And why? You don’t think I can fill out a gown?”

        “Because, if people hitting on you was the problem, you would’ve made yourself a homely woman instead.”

        “But what is life without beauty? I mean... look at me, I’m still a _babe,_ just of the rugged variety,” he said as he stroked some stubble. “And I can still rock a sequined dress, when I don’t feel like paying for booze.”

        “No one’s bought _me_ a drink yet,” she said, scrunching up her nose with jealousy. “Except Mac, because he lost a bet. And Nick, because I was broke. Cait makes _me_ buy _her_ drinks. I think Hancock tried to pick me up at one point, but I have a feeling he tries to pick up everyone. You need to teach me your secrets.”

        Deacon threw his hands in the air. “I told you; a sequined dress.”

        “Til then, you wear the dress and I steal half your free drinks.”

        He snapped his fingers. “Let’s do it, bro. Ladies night at The Third Rail, here we come.”

        And for once Nora believed him.

        It was possible that his tall tales weren’t exactly the brick wall that she thought, and more of an attempt at keeping things light. Nora’s situation was awful, and now she faced a graver danger joining Deacon in his field of work where the mission success rates were dismal and ending in the deaths of innocent synths and selfless volunteers. Maybe spinning a yarn about being a time traveling Las Vegas showgirl was a way to hold onto sanity... Even though, it seemed like the opposite to the outsider.

        “Now, I like to encourage a fun low-stress work environment as much as the next guy... but if I even catch wind that you've been disloyal to us—” He turned quickly and pressed his finger to her head— “Bam.” Nora swallowed as she saw her stunned face reflected in his lenses. “Ya feel me?”

        “Yes,” she answered compulsively.

        “You _sure?_ ”

        She nodded.

        He blew imaginary smoke from his finger tip and then flashed her a big smile. “Cool beans.”

        Nora understood but the sentiment—  and demonstration— made her shaky.

        “Now that I’ve properly put the fear in God in you, that's probably the most honest thing you'll ever hear from me, so don't even trip.”

        “Well, at least you’re admitting to being dishonest,” Nora said with an awkward smirk, trying to steady herself.

        “I dunno, am I? Maybe that was a lie. _Ooh. See?_ Maybe I was lying about lying.”

        “So were you lying about shooting me in the head?”

        “Do you want to test me, chickadee?” He was grinning again, but there was tension in his voice.

        “N-No.”

        “Trust no one. Question everything— even yourself.”

        “So how do I build a partnership with a co-worker I can’t trust? Everything Nick and I have is based on it.”

        “If there’s one solid truth about me that everyone on the planet should know, it’s this: I’ll never allow myself to put something before the good of the Railroad. Never. And if that means I have to shoot you in your precious noggin, so be it, pal.”

        Nora took a large gulp of water, feeling less and less safe knowing a man with self-proclaimed paranoia would turn on her over a gut feeling.

        “But, y’know,” Deacon continued, “I wouldn’t lose sleep over that. If you’re as dedicated to us as you are to the rusty detective, then I think we'll be besties in no time.”

        “Besties?” she asked skeptically.

        “That’s what you folks used to say, right? We’ll go to the mall, get our nails done, gossip about cute boys. That kind of thing.”

        The joke made her feel a little more relaxed. “OK.”

        “Sun’s setting soon, we should really get off the road. This tends to be a highway for muties going out to hunt at night. Lucky for us, I know all the best accommodations in the Commonwealth.”

        “A bed?” she asked, twisting her back. They’d slept on the metal terrace of a broken billboard the night before.

        He laughed. “You’re a riot.”

        ---

        “This place is choice,” Deacon said as he lead her to a park gate, lock rusted tight. Its brick walls stood sturdy, though the iron spikes adorning its ridge were bent over or entirely missing in places. She’d probably been here once before, but in its overgrown state it was unrecognizable. “Not many assholes are gonna slip through here.”

        He threw his pack over the top of the bulwark and then scaled it effortlessly. He looked back at her once he reached the top.

        “I... can't do that,” Nora said.

        “Sure you can, pal. If I can get my big ass up here, so can you. You weigh, what, fifty pounds?”

        “I don’t know if you’re trying to flatter or belittle me,” she said, and Deacon replied with a grin. “My strength is in my legs, though, I don't do much climbing.”

        He dropped down to the other side and peered at her through the bars. “If you wanna be a good sniper you gotta be a part of the gun show, y’know? Scaling to high ground is how you survive. Also kickback is less of a bitch.”

        Nora nodded with a frown, looking up at the wall with uncertainty.

        “C’mon, you can do it, I know you can,” Deacon said. His tone wasn’t as encouraging as it was patronizing.

        She struggled to find his prior footholds. Though he really didn’t have that much height on her, she wondered how the hell he’d been able to reach the bits of graspable brick. She would have to pull herself up, it seemed.

        “H-How did you do this?” Nora asked as she put on a pair of hide gloves. “Where did you—”

        “I can tell you, but in most situations you’ll need to figure it out and fast. So. Figure it out.”

        It felt like he was goading her, trying to get a rise out of whatever ego she had left in this wasteland. And, maybe, it was working. Nora leapt up with immense effort and caught ahold of the divot in the wall. Scrambling upwards, legs slipping a bit, she was able to force her arms over the crest, before lugging her torso up onto it. She hung with her chin dangling, looking down at him, and attempted to catch her breath.

        Deacon beamed up at her. “Howdy.”

        “Is this actually the easiest way to get in here?” she asked doubtfully.

        “I’m really on this kick about ‘immersion’, y’know? Learning by just gettin’ _right in there_.”

        “They do that for languages, not for survival skills,” Nora said, hauling herself atop the wall.

        Deacon opened his arms. “Do we need to do a trust fall?”

        “Trust no one, right?” she scowled.

        “See! _Immersion!_ ”

        She used a dense set of vines to help her scale down. By the time her feet hit the earth, she felt sticky and breathless and slightly bitter.

        “Oh, c’mon, you’re not exhausted by _that._ That’s a training wall, try scaling a building.”

        “You’ve never scaled a building, I can tell,” Nora parried, noting his physique.

        He began counting on fingers. “Push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, cardio. We’re gonna get you on a regimen.”

        Nora sighed. “Really?”

        His arms dropped to his side and his goofy smile faded. “Fuck, dude, do you want to be an agent or not? Do you want your kid back or not?”

        “Of course I do, but I’m no good if I’m going into it exhausted.”

        “Listen, you’re a damn good shot, but the Institute isn’t gonna wait for you to catch your breath or help you jump a fence. Kellogg especially will show you no mercy, he’ll delight in your pain like the monster he is.”

        “Jeez, OK,” Nora said softly. “There are better ways to motivate, you know?”

        “C’mon,” Deacon said, gesturing over his shoulder before continuing into the jungle-like bushes. She followed, wiping sweat off her brow. “Anyway… if that’s your first wall ever… you did a good job, I guess. I’ll make us protein rich dinner to get back whatever you just used up.”

        “Thanks,” she muttered. He was a tough teacher but maybe he _was_ trying.

        “Ey, looks like my lil campsite is still here,” Deacon chirped. “See, I told you assholes don’t fuck with fences.”

        ---

        They stowed away near a mighty tree, likely twice the size it’d been before the war, behind crumbling concrete that Nora assumed had been some sort of barrier. Deacon sat opposite from her at a previously constructed firepit, flicking his lighter into a handful of twigs and needles he had gathered. It smouldered and he hissed in glee, but his elation was swiftly dampered along with the kindling.

        “Ugh, I _hate_ starting fires. I can _do it_ but like… _fuck me._ ”

        Nora offered her hands. “Here, I can do it.”

        He wrenched it to his chest like a child who didn’t want to share. “You think a pre-war kid is more pro than me?”

        “I was a Girl Scout,” she said proudly.

        “Like the kind that sold cookies? What does fire and cookies have to do with each other?”

        “We had to raise money for our camping trip.”

        “Wait. You had to _pay_ to camp?”

        “Of course.”

        “Why? It’s outdoors.”

        “There was only so many spots.”

        “That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Now _you’re_ bullshitting _me_.” He paused. “ _Oh no,_ student becomes sensei,” Deacon whined before handing her the lighter.

        “Green needles have too much moisture, they won’t do your fire anything but harm.”

        “I… knew that,” he said defensively.

        Before long the fire was roaring, and as promised Deacon began preparing their dinner: cured meat and dried peppers mixed into canned beans, and a fourth of a can of beer ‘for stock’. He peered up at her as he stirred. Nora suspected she could've seen her first real glimpse of his eyes if it weren't for the shadow cast by the twilight.

        “So let me ask you again, agent to agent, mentor to student, as synth sympathizers: are you ready for all this? Are you ready to shoot a man who has a synth at gunpoint? Are you ready to put down a gang of bigots wielding baseball bats? To take out a woman before she smothers her synth lover in their sleep?”

        “That’s brutal,” she said with a furrowed brow.

        “Is not. It’s life. It’s the job.”

        Nora tilted her head with skepticism. “That sounds like speculation.”

        “OK, the last one, granted.” He shrugged a shoulder. “But it happens, and sometimes the signs are there.”

        “I think for all of those situations I could talk through it.”

        “You could talk to a gang?” Deacon said with tired disbelief.

        “I already did when I saved Nick.”

        “Really,” Deacon replied flatly.

        “Really.” She lifted her chin with some stoic pride. “Ask him. Besides, neither of us are here to cause more violence. We’re here to stop it.”

        “And most times violence is what stops it.”

        “As a last resort, yes.”

        He slapped his knee. “Well, pal, you have a point, but you haven’t been out here fighting as long as we have. The kumbaya shit didn’t work when we tried it, not with the Institute sending out their dogs the way they do. We get slaughtered for handing out pamphlets, synths get slaughtered for existing, nothing changes, it just gets worse. That’s why we have to crawl out of the dirt in the dead of night, lead people through the roughest backstreets no one dares cross, and silently slit the throats of those who would oppose us.”

        Nora took a swig from the beer. “I understand what you mean, but that’s just... harsh.”

        “It is, but that’s how we play ball. Because nothing else worked.”

        She ran a hand through her still sweaty hair. “Listen, I can do the escorts, I can fight assassins, I can move info around, but I can't just take someone out unless they shot first.”

        “Well, at least you’re telling me now. I’m used to it. I’ll do the murder, how ‘bout that?” It was hard to tell if he was making a joke or genuinely offering.

        “I just don’t feel right drawing first blood for an ideology. That’s what _they’re_ doing.”

        “You’re from a different time, I get it, but you’re talking down to me as if I haven’t been ruminating on this quandary for my entire adult life.”

        Maybe this was true. She hadn’t really probed Nate about the specifics of his job, or what he had done on the battlefield to earn his medals. Though he never brought it up either, and something had always told her it was for good reason. But even though both Nate and Deacon  could put aside their humanity for what they felt was the greater good, it just wasn’t her MO. She ran on empathy, and so far it had not only kept her alive but also gained her a strange yet loyal group of friends.

        “One day we'll have a softer world,” Deacon said, gentler this time. Nora looked up in interest, and saw him drawing lazy circles in the dirt with an extra twig. “That's what I believe. We have to do the bad shit so that one day no one else will have to. It takes the sacrifice of our innocence for future generations to know peace. Maybe that's me being naive as hell, but I feel like that's the only thing keeping most of us from laying down and dying, or becoming the evil we hate in order to live easy.”

        “If that’s what helps you sleep at night with a job like this one, I can respect that.”

        He gave a quiet laugh. There was something like sadness in it. Deacon held out his hand and  waved back with his fingers. Nora realized he was asking for the beer. She passed it to him, surprised that he didn’t mind sharing. He took a large sip, and then sighed heavily.

        “I know it sounds fucked up for some guy hiding in a church basement to advocate for a righteous kill, and we can all get as morally pious as we want... but at the end of the day, we have historical proof of how nonviolence was exactly how genocide was allowed to happen. How history is rewritten and folks act like they handed human rights over peacefully, instead of surrendering at the sight of their leaders with their heads in a guillotine basket.”

        “Historically speaking, true,” Nora said, the attorney in her interested in hearing Deacon plead his case. Apparently, he was much more well-read than she’d expected a wastelander to be.

        “Right. Any sort of supremacist will always paint themself as the civilized one who showed the lesser folks reason— found the goodness in their heart instead of having no other option. Look at your old world, look how all of it was built on the backs of slaves after ethnically cleansing the land. I know it’s different, I know we’re talking about built versus born, but I can’t help but think of the Institute and their abuse of synths in the same way. To put those fighting for justice in a civil war on the same level as those who oppress is total bullshit. Sorry if that tarnishes your worldview.”

        “Well, I can’t say I don't despise colonialism. But these bigots aren’t some militant superpower invading a land they have no right to. They’re assholes, yeah, but they’re the ones who are being invaded and murdered as well. They’re just taking it out on the wrong people.”

        “Let me put it this way: if someone believes it's within their right to kill an innocent based on what they are, I believe it's within mine to make sure they can't.”

        “As a lawyer I'm not sure I can abide by that. It’s still murder. It’s better to use that info to put them away so no one gets hurt.”

        “Yeah. Well, if we could still prosecute for hate crimes, maybe people like me wouldn't have to exist,” Deacon said with some bitterness.

        “Nick’s put people away.”

        He snorted. “Yeah, but how many of them were people who wanted someone like him dead? In Diamond _Shitty?_ I’d say zero.” Nora sighed, though she saw his point. She was always ready to punch out those who even looked at Nick wrong. Deacon leaned forward. “Now, here’s a sleepover question; If you were convinced someone intended to murder your friend Valentine in cold blood, and you knew no law protected him and no one cared enough to stop them, what would you do?”

        The notion was like a jolt. Her mind raced but she could find no answer. “I... I don't know.”

        “But you can't say you wouldn't intervene, can you?”

        Nora was quiet. Deacon began serving the food onto a metal plate, apparently finding her silence an adequate response.

        Nick. He was the reason she was sitting here under this tree, why she pledged her life without doubt. She would do almost anything for him.

        “That's how it is on this bitch of an Earth,” Deacon said. “You better think about it. Because you can say whatever you please from your ivory tower, but until you’re knee deep in the shit of human suffering, there’s no way to say what you’ll do.”

        “OK. I might not agree, but I understand,” Nora said. She’d had privileges in her life far beyond any the wastelanders had ever known, but she’d seen the hardships of her own time. How things got worse and worse as people found it too risky to merely whisper ill of authority. No uprising came, only the end of days. “I... I just don’t know how much of _me_ I can sacrifice when I joined up for a reason. But I don’t judge you. I’m not judging _you_. I respect you.”

        He gave her the dish and a piece of rustic bread. She whispered a thank you, though her appetite had vanished.

        “Honestly, you can hate my guts, a lot of people do, but they can’t say I’m not good at my job.” He took a long sip of the beer. “Anyway. Protip about the Railroad: when flying solo, you can let your personal morals make your judgement calls, but once you partner up, you need to be on the same page. And if someone outranks you... you can plead your case, but once the order is given you gotta listen. And you can't chicken out to save your own ass if that means you put a synth in danger, capice?”

        “I wouldn't,” she said, though deep down the idea terrified her. But Nate would protect an innocent with his own life. So would Nick. That was why she adored them both. If Nora couldn’t do that basic thing, she’d never live up to either of them.

        Deacon passed her the beer. She took a drink, no longer caring about indirect mouth-to-mouth with a near stranger.

        “Listen, I’m not trying to crush your spirits or tell you you’re wrong for having your convictions. It’s hard to find strong moral fiber out here. That’s why Valentine’s a gem. But he’s pretty indestructible, unlike you and I, and, hell, _everyone_. I think he likes your naivety. He finds it refreshing, you remind him of the old world. I get it. But you know what I see?” He waggled a spoon at her. “I see every face of every big-eyed wholesome kid who died out here. And I don't want that to be you. If you're as important as I think you are, I can't let that be you.”

        Nora wasn’t used to feeling _significant_. She had always been the unwanted child, the burden on the family, the clumsy lawyer-in-training treated like the office maid. The other military spouses had always told her how silly it was to see herself as anything more than a housewife. Wastelanders gawked at her for a situation outside her control. And Nick said such kind, loving things, but she always wondered if they weren’t tender little lies to keep her aloft.

        But Deacon didn’t give a shit about sinking her pride.

        “Why do you think I’m important?” she asked meekly.

        “Professional intuition. I don't believe in cosmic shit, but then again I do. And you being here. It... It makes sense. What they did to you will be their hubris. When they fucked with your family, they awakened a sleeping dragon. First you clawing tooth and nail, now they got Valentine on their ass, even _the Minutemen_ are intervening... Everyone was scared shitless, and now they're all in rallying behind _your_ flag. That's big, pal,” he said before popping food in his mouth.

        “You think?” Nora always considered herself a common thread between important parties, not a figure for them all to _follow_.

        “Listen, I've been fighting these guys probably as long as you've been alive. This is some big new shit. And another protip, in crossroads like these, more often than not, trusting my gut was better than trusting my head. Because my head says you’d crumble... but deep down I know as long as you’re prepared... you’re going to move mountains.”

        She gave a small smile, not sure what to say and feeling too much spotlight on her. She spooned at her dinner.

        “God, I really hate this brand of canned beans,” Nora said, changing the subject. “I hope you’re a wizard chef.”

        “You're lucky it's not dog food.”

        “Don’t be gross,” she groaned. “Wait, do people eat dog food?”

        “Oh my god, dude, I know this is a hard adjustment for you but you don’t even begin to know what slumming it is. One time I had maggots in my food.”

        “ _Nooooo.”_

        “So that was a fun birthday,” Deacon deadpanned.

        She laughed.

        “Hey! That’s not a punchline, I’m trying to have a moment of sincerity with you and you have to be an asshole!”

        She laughed harder. He smiled.

        “Unbe-fuckin-lievable, pal.”

        ---

        The total blackness around her heightened her senses, until everything became overpowering. A din of crickets. The rustle of the tree. Distant gunfire. The smell of dirt… and sweat that wasn’t hers. She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position on the rocky earth. By the sound of his breathing, Deacon had been out for the count ages ago. Traveling this light wasn't something she was used to. First aid, small rations, a bed roll, a change of clothes— and nothing else. At least the nights were warmer now, but she couldn't imagine how Deacon could survive winters in Boston sleeping on the ground this way.

        _Trust no one,_ he said. But she had to. She’d only gotten this far due to trust. Due to faith.

        Oh. _Faith._

        She had faith in Nick, in the happy ending he promised she’d find. He couldn’t give her the world like he’d wished, but she had faith that he’d try. She had faith in the Railroad, that they would fight their best no matter what. She didn’t trust them to bring her to her son, but they were her strongest lead.

        And Deacon. It seemed like _no one_ trusted him. His comrades scoffed, they flashed looks, they waved him off as he said things with that stupid smile. He was a liar, secretive, a man of no name and no face, wouldn’t even show his eyes. He’d dragged her exhausted into the secluded brush, liquored her up, told her he wasn’t opposed to inflicting violence on her if necessary.

        And then he had fed her, made her laugh, taught her to be tough and ready to fight, and now he snored.

        Nora was safe. And she had faith that this professional fraud was a good man.

        ---

        Nick thumbed through some files and his makeshift calendar, checking up on payment plans and trying to budget their next few months. The past winter had been mild enough to warrant minimal power use. Even at night, Ellie was perfectly content under a stack of blankets. But Nick always underestimated how pricey summer got, with the ice purchases and electric bills from trying to circulate air all day. Unlike the cool months, even he suffered in the heat.

        Ellie came down to the office, and from the sweet aroma wafting off her he could tell she intended to make an impression on some unknown party: she’d just washed-up with her ‘good soap’. The scent booted up a memory, and as usual Nick couldn’t help but fall into it.

        But where it took him was not the place he’d expected.

        Nick found himself sitting at Nora’s counter, captivated as she bustled around the dilapidated kitchen. She was in the process of making anise seed cookies for Preston— his birthday drew near and the detectives had case out by Boston Harbor anyhow. The human Nick had never been one for the taste or scent of black licorice, but now-a-days something about the pungent aroma mixed with the vanilla and citrus was satisfying. So strong he could almost taste it, though that was impossible.

        Nora’s stirring stopped and she dipped her head back, taking in a shuddering inhale. And Nick _knew_ : it was one of those days.

        She was so pretty when she cried. Not as if her face didn’t contort, or she didn’t blubber, sniffle, spittle or wheeze. But she wore every emotion so authentically. So raw, so _human_. Nora’s eyes became big, shining impossibly, tears beading on her long lashes. The tan under her dense freckles became flushed, her cheeks catching the light and glistening. Nick’s heart filled up and then broke, like he was the egg she cracked into her mixing bowl.

        “What’s the matter, hun?” Nick asked softly.

        “Memory,” she rasped, steadying her breath. “Memory trigger— Anise... My grandma’s recipe. I made these for Nate last, and it feels like... a hundred years ago.”

        “Scent memory, that’s a big one, ain’t it,” Nick said with empathy.

        “Yeah.” She wiped her eyes and wound up getting flour on her face. Nick chuckled. “Sorry.”

        “Why are you sorry?”

        “All I do is cry.”

        “That's not true.”

        “I do and I hate it.”

        “You’re a sweet kid and you feel with all your heart. Sometimes I question if most folks even got one. Don’t be ashamed of it.”

        She beamed gratefully at him, droplets falling from her eyes like dew off a flower.

        “ _Nick?”_  
  
        “Hmm?” Nick asked with confusion as things darkened.

        “ _Nick? Do you?”_

        Nick’s gaze snapped upwards, meeting Ellie’s anticipatory stare. He wasn’t in the little blue house, he was still at his desk in the office. That was right. _God,_ how had he been so dense? Nora wasn’t actually here. It was just a memory he’d gotten lost in.

        “I what now?” Nick asked, trying to seem unperturbed by the shift in his reality.

        She frowned. “Do you want me to see if the caravan sells coolant?” Ellie repeated, leaning in as she enunciated.

        “Y-Yeah, sure.”

        “Are you OK?” she asked skeptically.

        “Er, yeah. CPU. Analyzing something.”

        “Diagnostics?”

        He pointed. “That. That one.”

        “You're lagging again, aren't you? I swear, you get worse every year. Now I _really_ hope they carry coolant.”

        “Yeah, fingers crossed, huh?”

        He often lost time and space to memories, but that was with the real Nick's, not his own. Not anything so recent. It’d only been a week since Nora had left for a stint with the Railroad, but her absence was truly getting to him.

        Not to say he was codependent— he'd lived in this damn wasteland for sixty years, much of it in isolation— but without Nora, the rose-colored filter was gone and he remembered how gray the world was. His patience for others waned, he fell into old habits, a bit moody; the kind of attitude that would earn him a scolding smack from the woman herself. And he felt… _tired_. Summer was on the horizon, and it’d been a warm spring, sure, but this was different than seasonal frustration.

        Maybe he preferred the man he was with Nora, maybe she brought out the best in him. The old Nick, the one not yet beaten down by life, loss or an _apocalypse_. The rookie who stupidly thought he could save the world, fix the system through hard work and optimism. Nick had watched Nora do so much good in so little time, it made him feel like maybe everything _was_ going to get better.

        “I’ll top off, but I got some business to attend to, actually,” Nick said as Ellie put up her hair.

        “Oh? On the schedule?”

        “Eh, lil’ more impromptu. Someone owes me a favor. Maybe I can mooch a drink off ‘em, so to speak.”

        “When’s Nora coming back?” Ellie asked with a furrowed brow.

        “Dunno.”

        “Are you going to be OK out on your own, lagging?”

        “I’m not _lagging_ , I was just runnin’ some stuff, I told you.”

        “Well, don’t wear your coat, you’ll overheat.”

        “I have to wear my coat. ‘Specially without my side-kick advocating for my personhood.”

        “Take it easy then. Or else we’re going to have another summer where your tank rusts out. And I won’t be the only one you’ll get an earful from.”

        ---

        God, what a dull and desolate trek it was without her. Yes, the sun was shining, bird songs on the breeze, but the streets of Boston were a necropolis once more. Wind whistling through broken windows, stone walls crumbling, iron skeletons of once glorious skyscrapers moaning as if in grief. Nora was not there chirping with conversation and coy wisecracks. And even in their silence, it was company of the warmest sort, at times walking so close they bumped arms.  Personal space scarcely existed when in the solitude of each other. Nick wasn’t certain if she was like that with everyone or if it was a cosiness saved for him, but he savoured the notion that his solid casings and rough edges were not enough to deter her affection.

        Once on the job, things only got worse. Well, not worse… They reverted back to the ho-hum usual flavor of standoffish prejudice without the woman to help with the interfacing. He could never entirely understand how people so desperate for help still managed to be so ungrateful. And though he had reprimanded Nora for snapping back before, he wished she was there to at least gripe under her breath about it. To have that empathetic ear of hers to remind him that words were only just words, and he had value, and he was… loved.

        He kept thinking back to the pledge she had given to the Railroad. To now know the value synthetic lives had to her both heartened and terrified him.

        On one hand, he felt responsible for any ill fate she may befall on her fight for synthkind, as he was her _first_ , so to speak. But another voice told him not to be so vain; by the sounds of it, she’d always had a big heart for the downtrodden, long before he was even a gleam in the eye of the Institute. In all likelihood, she’d be on this path whether Nick existed or not. At one time in his mechanical life, it’d been hard to believe good people like her were out there, but he’d just met a whole catacomb full of strangers even more selfless than Nora.

        What would become of Nick and Nora now that she tangoed with things far bigger than the both of them?

        Someone cleared their throat behind him. He turned with question, as his newest client rested on the farm fence. It was hard to say whether the stance was casual or meant to intimidate.

        “You all remember any more details about what you heard that night?” Nick asked the gruff-looking farmer.

        “No. I got a question for _you_.”

        “Oh?”

        “The husband and I thought you had… a partner now. A woman?”

        “I do,” Nick said, almost eager at the chance to speak about Nora. “She’s a fine right-hand at that. But she’s on a job of her own, so… you’re stuck with Valentine himself.”

        “We’d prefer working with a human,” they said like a shopper returning a purchase. There wasn’t hostility in their voice, almost if they had no idea the bot could even take offense.

        “Mmn, I see,” Nick said, before lighting a cigarette in annoyance. “Well, beggars can’t be choosers, so. Do you want your damn power core back or not?”

        ---

        It was such a lazy summer day, ceiling fan rotating slowly, sending a relaxing breeze onto her bare shoulders. Nora sprawled across the couch onto her husband as she half watched a baseball game. The home team was losing, but it didn’t exactly matter to either of them. Nate was here, a little battered from his injury and his muscular arm still in a sling, but he was alive and not going anywhere.

        Her eyes wandered away from the TV, across the pristine living room, then onto Nate’s tanned skin and dark thick eyelashes. He still sported his military fade as if expecting to be called back into combat.

        “Are you ever going to let your cute curls grow back out?” she asked as she brushed the sides with her thumb.

        “You know I hate them,” he laughed, not looking away from the television.

        “But I like them. I miss twirling them between my fingers.” Suddenly her heart dropped and her vision blurred from tears. She sniffled and wiped them away, not knowing why she felt so sad. The baby kicked again.

        _Oh right, the baby._

        She turned to Nate again. “I hate being pregnant in summer so much. Whose bright idea was it to knock me up on Halloween?”

        “I thought you wanted a Halloween baby.”

        “That means the baby is born on Halloween, you idiot,” she groaned but couldn’t help the laughter from mixing in.

        “Ohhhh, well… I’ll get it right next time.” Nate nudged her playfully. “Get you a very spooky daughter.”

        “And I’m also going nuts being away from work anyway.”

        “What, you don’t like spending time with me anymore?” he asked with a smirk.

        “I can’t spend _all_ my time with you.” The Nuka-Cola sign appeared on the television, the sponsor of Fenway Park. “Babe, can you get me a Nuke? It’s too hard to get up.”

        “Hold on, they’re still playing.”

        “ _Nate?_ Please?”

        “I gotcha,” said a voice and then an ice cold bottle appeared in her hand. Nick Valentine sat next to her with a sigh. “I don’t need to watch— I know how this one ends,” he said and she laughed at the absurdity.

        “No spoilers, please,” another voice whined. Nora whipped her head and spotted Deacon making himself a sandwich like he owned the place.

        “You’re here too?” Nora laughed.

        “I’m everywhere. Always.”

        “You didn’t tell me I had to _share_ you,” Nate teased.

        Nora rolled her eyes. “They’re just friends from work,” she said, though she realized Nick’s arm was now around her. Nate placed his hand on her pregnant stomach possessively. “Boys, please, stop fighting.”

        “Wait, I wanna do the thing too,” Deacon said with his mouth full and ran over with an outstretched arm.

        Something nudged her, disturbing her pleasant rest. “Hey. Time to go.”

        “Can't I have— ”

        “Time to go,” Deacon said more forcefully.

        Nora clumsily sat up, the jolt of it waking her, though the interruption left her mind in a dissociative state. Nate was often a staple of her night-time subconscious. Dreams had become a bittersweet refuge where she could relive good times, pick up where she left off. This time around, the anachronistic addition of the people in her new life made her take pause. Perhaps this was a healthy development. Though she still missed Nate terribly every day, it was getting to the point where trading someone like Nick for her late husband was more of an emotional conundrum. She was lacking the romance, the physicality, the luxury of her biggest worry being the fears of new-motherhood, but there was no presence of a kindred spirit like Nick in her old life. In dreams, it seemed she could have it both ways.

        Deacon intruding in her mind was a more puzzling plot twist, but showing up uninvited to derail a perfectly good situation wasn’t exactly out of character for him.

        She slowly climbed out of her sleeping bag tucked under the large tree, and saw that Deacon already had most of his things packed. The fog of sleep consumed her, making her a bit irate and already setting her bar of Deacon’s brand of nonsense at a lower level. She was used to more gentle tones, leniency, Nick Valentine softly easing her away from her nostalgic dreams and back into the morning light. _God,_ she missed him. As she rolled up her bed, she wished he could accompany them on missions, but the veteran agent deemed it too risky. If they were on the Institute's tail, a Gen 2 could likely tip them off. And Kellogg, wherever he may be, was obviously aware Nick would be on his trail sooner rather than later.

        Deacon turned to her. “Y'know, I had a weird dream. I was eating a giant marshmallow.”

        She snorted, surprised. “And when you woke up your pillow was gone.”

        “Aw man, you've heard that one?”

        “Yeah.”

        “I don't even know what a marshmallow is. It's kind of my life's quest to taste one.”

        “I'm a baker, y’know. I mean, I was in my spare time. But with the proper ingredients, I could make one for you?”

        “What? Seriously? Oh man, we are definitely keeping you around. We have the coffee, you bring the donuts.”

        He wasn't as warm as Nick, or Preston, or even Piper, but he wasn't _cold_. Threats aside, he seemed more... aloof. Focused on his job and not on Nora's well-being, which, though jarring, was understandable. But like Nick, he knew how to bring a smile to her lips.

        Deacon slung his bag over his shoulder and scratched his head before slipping on a baseball cap. Nora smirked up at him as she wrapped up her things.

        “What?” he asked.

        “I still can't believe you were bald this whole time.”

        “I'm not _bald—_ I can grow hair, it's just easier this way.”

        “Sure.”

        “I can grow the most beautiful hair you've ever seen in your whole damn life,” he retorted, sounding nearly offended.

        “When's the last time you tried?”

        He paused for a moment. She laughed when he found nothing to say in return. Deacon pointed back at her. “You need to respect your elders.”

        ---

        Deacon could be a bit of a pain when he wasn’t looking to entertain, but Nora, who had once been such a push-over, had no qualms in shoving back when needed. Though she was willing to work harder, she didn’t fear alienating someone who was technically her superior by putting her foot down when she felt he asked too much.

        And something else about Deacon was intriguing and frustrating. He had said he preferred flying solo, but the way his mouth never stopped moving made her wonder if he wasn’t just dying to have a captive audience.

        “But like, then this one time I ordered it, and it was like... absolutely _appalling._ But then Carrington told me that DC’s tatoes are like, _ancient strain_ of tatoes, so, like, they don’t even taste like the kind we have— they were the kind you had, I guess. They’re not even red skinned, they’re just brown. But anyway— it reminded me of soap somehow, like y’know how instant mash flakes look like soap flakes? It was like that but literal, I swear— and Dez says cilantro tastes like soap, but I think she has a problem in her brain because it _does not_. Am I crazy?”

        “No, I agree with you,” she said, amused by his tangent.

        “Good. Old world potatoes though. Soapy.”

        “I disagree with that. I think your tatoes kind of taste like cardboard.”

        “You’ve tasted cardboard? Gross. Is that some kind of pica thing?”

        “No,” she laughed.

        “Hey, what time is it, anyway?”

        “Uh, it’s 10:32— ”

        “Ugh, for real? I got.. c-caught up—  Let’s hustle, dude.”

        He picked up the pace. For a while, it was doable, but the lack of conversation gave her nothing to focus on except the sensations in her body. With the heat from the sun, and the constant josling of her weapon and supplies on her shoulders, it wasn’t long before fatigue swept in.

        “Hey, can we slow down?” Nora asked, feeling the sweat on her back, aches in her calves, and tension growing in her neck.

        “We’re on a time limit,” Deacon said. “This is a job, not an errand. Places to see and people to be...”

        “I think it’s the other way around,” Nora giggled breathlessly.

        “Tay-to, tah-to.”

        “My legs are killing me, my heart’s... pounding,” she panted.

        “Push through,” Deacon said. “That’s what we do.”

        He was not as accommodating as Nick. She didn't want to be coddled, but life out here was harsh and Nick made her feel like she could survive. Deacon was more than welcoming, nearly insistent on having her fall into their ranks, but didn’t seem like he was going to adjust to her speed. She knew she was green, out of her depth, but _damn_.

        Maybe it _was_ high time she pushed herself more. Let go of Nick’s hand and really struggled again. It’d been so hard in the beginning, when it had been just her and Codsworth, stumbling through the unknown, starving and tired and sore and frightened. It was time to go to bootcamp. _But on her terms._

        “I need to stop, Deacon. If I max out now, do you really want me to be useless?”

        To her surprise, his pace slowed. “Five minute break,” Deacon said, gesturing against a stone wall. She downed her canteen. “You gonna be OK?”

        “Yeah. I’m just... beat. The heat’s getting to me.”

        “Well, it’s almost summer, we’re gonna sweat through some shirts.”

        “It's a migraine trigger. And I told you, I got this… weird _disease_ now that affects my stamina and— ”

        “That sucks, but again, a raider isn't going to give a shit.”

        “I am _aware_ ,” she replied through gritted teeth.

        “Look, I'm really not saying this to be an asshole. Maybe Valentine can shield you with his body, but I can't. You’re supposed to be a help, not a hindrance— I’m not used to doing team shit these days.”

        “You can’t call me a hinderance just because I’m not exactly matched with you,” Nora parried. Nick could out-everything her, and still he’d built her up to make her feel not burdensome for once.

        “OK, that was… a really poor choice of words on my part. I get in the zone, I’m gonna do everything the way I’m used to doing it. I gotta… recalibrate. It’s gonna take some time.”

        “Isn’t teamwork learning how to make up for each other’s weaknesses?”

        “You think I have a weakness?”

        “You have no bedside manner, that’s for sure.”

        He laughed. “OK fair. But, listen, I know what you’re feeling. I was green too, once, so, so long ago. I’ve fought through illness too, sniped guys when I could barely see straight from hunger, climbed fences with a bullet lodged in my back. Focus on your mission and the pain will fade.” He gave her a smile that wasn’t silly or sly. It was... sympathetic. “Trust me.”

        She raised an eyebrow. “Trust you?”

        “Heh. _Whoopsie._ ”

        ---

        Nick’s case earned him a meager payment of caps but a hefty supplies of eggs, which admittedly were useless to him but would save on food costs for Ellie. And… what the heck, he decided she’d earned something nice and swerved towards Polly’s stand to buy a slab of bacon.

        “You want canned or salted— ”  
  
        “Ideally _fresh_ , if you have it.”

        “Fresh?” Polly said as if he’d asked for filet mignon. “Gotta go up to the locker for that.”

        “If it’s not too much trouble.”

        “OK…” Her eyes darted to the guard. “You make sure no sneak thieves take my prime cuts.”

        “Well, I’m here too, y’know,” Nick grumbled as Polly ambled off. After all, it wasn’t any secret that he’d been a cop in a past life.

        He squinted down the alley, people-watching, awkwardly wondering if residents found him untrustworthy even now when he’d been a city staple longer than most of them were alive. He never interacted much with Polly the butcher, besides the casual hellos when she was outside the Dugout playing poker. Though she _was_ the one who objected to his participation because he ‘probably didn’t have a tell’.

        “So Nicky, you Peter Pan now?” the guard asked.

        Nick glanced over, the comparison making no sense in any form. “How’s that?”

        “You lost your shadow.”

        He blinked, taking it literally for a moment. “ _Oh._ You mean—  yeah. Guess she does follow quite a bit.”

        “A bit? You and Vault Girl are a package deal now.”

        “Yeah.” He gave a small smile. “Maybe I’m a bit of a wreck if I don’t have her in my sights.”

        “Speaking of which, where is she?”

        “Huh?” His smile faded. “Oh. Dunno.”

        “ _Dunno?_ I thought you were ‘a wreck’.”

        “She’s… off,” he said, waving a hand. “With some guy.”

        “Some guy? You don’t know ‘im?”

        “Nah. I mean. I dunno.” He averted his gaze. “I met him, he… seems like a good kid.”

        Nick felt weird about it. It wasn’t as if he had a reason to mistrust Deacon, to think he’d cause Nora any harm, but it  _bothered_ him: how she giggled in the way that he always thought was reserved for him; her eyes starry in admiration of someone else; imagining them, out there. Alone.

        “That’s what happens with people like her, though, right?” the guard asked.

        “Huh?”

        “Someone with that kind of energy. My sis was like that. They gotta find someone to exhaust them, otherwise they get bored running circles around ya.”

        From what Nick could gather in their short time together, Deacon was definitely more her speed. They both enjoyed bad jokes, were kind of foul mouthed, tried to find the fun in things whereas Nick could be more brooding. He always questioned what someone like Nora found appealing about his more subdued, hidebound company. And there were definitely things that he couldn’t give, even if she wanted.

        But. Wait. Why was he even  _thinking_ about that?

        “Don’t worry, Nicky. She’ll be stuck to you like glue again in no time.”

        “Oh. No, I’m not _jealous_ ,” Nick chuckled, though he wasn’t quite sure that was true anymore. “But you’re right, she’ll tire herself out. And I’ll have to tuck her in, as usual.”

        His bird was flighty. But she always flew home.

        ---

        Admittedly, Nora had been a little too short with Deacon when her questions about their mission were met with, “oh, _you’ll know_ ”... because he had been right. The agent the she needed to pass information to was unmistakable, even though Nomad hid her wild curls behind a headband and sported some cat-eyed shades. It was very clear the Railroad had become shorthanded.

        “Hey, do you have a Geiger counter?” Nora asked as she approached.

        Nomad gaped at her for a second before smiling. “Sorry, mine’s in the shop.”

        “Oh. Damn.” Nora wasn’t quite good at play-acting but she tried her best to be natural. “Uh, got anything to trade?”

        Her eyebrows rose above the sunglasses. “Depends; are you gonna give me bubblegum or bullets?”

        Nora had learned this was another set of code. Good news or bad news. “Bubblegum.”

        “Well, that’s a relief.” She leaned back against the brick wall. “You… You’ve been out in the wastes long, greenhorn?”

        “A couple weeks.”

        “How is it?”

        “Exhausting,” Nora sighed in earnest.

        Nomad gave her a sympathetic smile. “Well, no one said it was easy.”

        “Yeah,” Nora looked around, seeing if anyone was eavesdropping. She didn’t spy anyone—  nor did she see the spy himself. She turned back to Nomad to deliver Desdemona’s message: “Apparently there’s this nasty mean merc out there. Bald, big ol' scar, going around causing a lot of trouble. Woman to woman, I think you should keep an eye out.”

        She got the gist and nodded. “Oh, _will do_.”

        There was a pause as Nora stared at the ground and considered the most casual sign off to give. And then she remembered something else. Her eyes darted up. “What’s your sign?”

        “Huh? Uh. Sagittarius?”

        “You should check your horoscope, I think good things are in your career’s future.” This was not official code, but Nora decided to make it one.

        Nomad seemed confused but still smiled. “O-Oh, OK. Thanks.”

        Nora gave a polite wave, and then bustled back down the street, not quite sure where Deacon had gotten to. She tried to find a pair of glinting sunglasses in the crowd, but then again if he’d taken them off to blend in further… well… she’d be damned if she could spot him.

        “Good job, pal!” a voice suddenly said.

        Nora whipped around, grasping her heart. “You scared me.”

        “I liked that whole horoscope thing, I really like it,” Deacon continued, ignoring her reaction. “You sound like some nutcase fortune teller, that’s a good angle.”

        “Yeah?”

        “Yeah. Hey, I’m a Pisces, y’know.”

        “And why would you tell me that?”

        “So you can read my chart and I can raise a stink when you don’t get me a birthday present.”

        “Well, I hope that’s true and I don’t look like an ass when I bake you a vague cake next March.”

        “If we live that long,” he said with a shrug.

        She scowled. “Don’t say that, what the hell.”

        Deacon raised a finger with importance. “There’s a saying about my people… and that saying is we like cake.” He pointed at her. “So if you bake a cake for every month just to make sure one of them counts as a birthday cake, I’d be A-OK with that, pal.” He gave a thumbs up.

        “Yeah, well you’re lucky I stress-bake.”

        “Damn, you _are_ a catch. You’re gonna make your kid really happy. And fat. But that goes hand-in-hand with the happy part.”

        “Thanks. I guess,” she said, not used to Deacon saying anything definitive about her getting her son back.

        “So.” He stretched with a groan. “Where to now, boss?”

        “Boss?” she asked incredulously, and Deacon furrowed his brow. “Wh-Why are you asking _me?_ ”

        “I mean, I did my end of the team thingy, mission accomplished.”

        “So did… Did I pass training?”

        He raised his hands like she’d said something absurd. “Dude, you’re already in. You’ve been in! I’m just seeing what I have to work with. The test drive is over, it’s time for you to have the keys.”

        “So, wait…” She looked at with with a bemused smile. “Now I get to tell you what we’re gonna do?”

        “Uh, yeah, that’s how a team works, right?”

        “Well… it’s a hot day.” She raised her shoulders “You… You wanna buy some beers and go to the beach?”

        Deacon clutched his face. “Beach party? _Hell yeah._ Oh my God, dude, did you ever surf in the old days, because back in the NCR we used to surf like every morning—  so picture it; dawn breaking over the horizon, breathing in that kind of sea salt you can only smell at five in the morning, me and two ghouls in bikinis ready to catch the sickest waves—  I wasn’t wearing a bikini, I prefer a one piece with tasteful cutouts— anyway...”

        There he went, on a wild tale again, his constant bait and switch as if trying to get a reaction out of her. He followed at her heels like a hyperactive child rather than like a mentor, no longer looking over shoulders which were now slack. Nora needed a day off, after an entire week on the clock, and she wondered how long it had been since he’d indulged in the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Can't make promises for how fast the next one is going to go up, since I gotta do a few more decisions regarding pacing and structure (I have so many pieces but I have to fit them together) but I hope you're still along for the slowwwwwww ride ahah... more main quest biz is on the horizon! I had some really bad health issues last month and every comment gives me so much HP and I love you all ;o;
> 
> I might have a few Nora and Deacon one-shots out there posted separately from TGF stuff so keep an eye out for those too.
> 
> Plugging [my main blog](http://television-for-dinner.tumblr.com/tagged/fic+stuff) and [my art/fanworks blog](http://tommytonebender.tumblr.com), cryptic message about checking my side bar, etcetera.


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